sands

I heard this all before
as I turn out the lights,
check the windows and doors,
my eyes shut tight.
Lock my heart
there are prowlers loose
who particularly like the night.

They might be here,
footprints in the sand
that don’t belong to me.

I stand on the outside
looking in
a better place to be
’cause if I’m looking out
you would understand
things are bad
vagrant voices in my head.

They might be here,
footprints in the sand
that don’t belong to me.

Poetry

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